I was once a little twig with dreams of being a mighty tree
So people would come from all around just to look at me
As the years started to come and go I fell in love with the wind
I would open myself big and wide swaying to the music of my friend
My rings became many and my bark was as red as red could be
Then the day finally came I was the tallest of the tallest trees
I stood tall and I stood proud and everyone knew my name
As my rings continued recording my destiny to fame
Then the fateful day it came my friend and I had a fight
Looking back I can't recall who was wrong or right
I said, "You are but the wind something people can't even see"
" And I'm the king of them all the tallest of the tallest trees"
That night the wind started to howl she really started to blow
And I the tallest of all the trees learned we reap what we sow
My roots struggled to hold on tight but without a soul around
She who had been my dearest friend knocked me to the ground
The loggers came and cut me up then shipped me away
To my soul that truly was a sad and lonely day
Torn from all I knew and loved wishing I didn't have to feel
I was cut into boards and post down at the local mill
Now I'm back here at home just a few feet away
From where my friend the wind and I used to dance and play
I'm the deck on which you stand I lay below your feet
There is a bench made of me would you care to have a seat
Sometimes in life our roles change just take a look at me
The trick is no matter who are what you are be all you can be
See I was once a little twig who became a mighty tree
And now I'm a redwood deck as proud as proud can be
And of my friend the wind she visits me everyday
So I can thank her once again for helping me find my way
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2007
Mistress of deception,
as in victual monogamy.
A deceit of one’s perception,
without an irksome homily.
Mushrooms drop into a pot,
with peppers, once pureed.
Zucchini dance as they are tossed
amidst confetti of celery seed.
Onions sing out with Garlic,
part of the tomato cabaret.
They drop, sway, and frolic,
below the leaves of dried up bay.
A precipitation of spices,
fine herbs and hot chilies.
If omitted a possible crisis,
like the heel of Achilles.
Then a most decisive stroke,
wheat pasta hits the stage.
With every furtive jab and poke…
Spaghetti is still the rage!
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2012
Out on the porch for a little recess
From life's daily chores, listen to raindrops
Pitter-patter, musical sounds request
From gentle breeze, which stirs windchimes non-stop
Nature's orchestra plays as in hammock relaxed lay
A novel to read or just nap away
Afternoon quietly, what more pleasure
Maybe do something risque
Meet with lover, love away rainy day
In deep caresses our love we'll measure
The flame will burn higher as our desire
Rises with each kiss and loving caress
As the rain's rhythm sets mood, love's red fire
Glows as love to each other we confess
Romancing to rain's music dance and sway
Raindrops, roses, love's desire only glows
Lover so glad you could be companion to
Maybe do something risque
As on the love seat, inflamed we repose
Not needing love potion our love to renew
Lover so glad that I met you today
Out on porch listening to rain's rhythm
Stirring music in my soul fears allay
Perfectly matched love's biorhythm
There are now no fears or life's dismay
Love come take me away to higher realm
Come, stay, don't just wait life's rainy day to
Maybe do something risque
Hold, caress, don't wait 'til life overwhelms
Love come stay please don't ever bid adieu
Contest: An Ode To Small Comfort On a Rainy Afternoon
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2012
Forbidden as the fruit in the garden of Eden,
But is merciless as man's carnal desire.
Similarly ripe and succulent,
And provoking instantaneous salivation,
A desire to taste.
The oasis in a desert of heat and sand,
Quenching the instinctive thirst of man.
The bearer of fruit,
Giver of life,
The garden in which man plants his seed,
And grants the world mortality.
Once a symbol of purity and innocence,
The most beautiful of flowers in a field of many.
Harvesting of such a blossom does not result in decadence,
But instead marks fertility,
And the renewal of that virtue.
Dawning of all existence,
Fulfillment of all desires,
And the divine being of all creation,
Eternally unaware of the power it possesses.
Copyright © Krystal Turton | Year Posted 2008
The ladder backed pecker,
like a prison uniform.
Caught-up in exposing
the truth beneath the bark,
of the poet's apple tree.
We prefer ourself in spring;
with tiny little flowers,
and the fruit of possibility.
Yet, if not for the woodpecker,
tapping holes into poems,
we might not ever see
the flesh and blood of raw meat.
I will climb that ladder back,
escape pre-decreed standards.
Tap into that syrupy mixture
and suck-out truth from hard wood.
Yes, lessons from a jail bird.
A pest in the Avian Kingdom.
Wisdom from the little rebel,
beat-out of a tree.
Copyright © Dean Walker | Year Posted 2006
If the lovely breeze had a name
we could drift together as two dandelion wishes
floating wanton on foamy winds.
If the river were rolling, gently
we could slide in and swim
for hours, without rushing
and love is like that.
Love is like still water
standing so deep in a vessel
yet so easily broken upon the smallest of stones;
scattered, and yet-
from this another river begins
(as you begin)
How lovely if you had a name
I would call out to you
and I would hear your reply as
the wind blowing, the water rushing
and not your echoes
as you trickled across so many small, jagged stones
Copyright © Meggan Rogalski | Year Posted 2006
Will I Recognize… The Face Of Love?
Or the Wonderful, Bedazzled Appearance of:
A Moon-kist Meadow, Hushed and Dark
A Solitary Silhouette, this Beauty Mark,
Windswept Grasses, like a Babe’s Soft Lashes
Rippling across Earth, that’s smooth as a Cheek.
In the Hushed and Flowery Scented Air…
Your Face of Love Materializes, Silvery, Full
The Face of Love … is Unforgettable.
From the Face of Love … Will I Withdraw?
The Face of Love without Any Flaw;
As a Canopy of Clouds with the Splendor of Sunbeams
Piercing past the fluffy powder of Heaven, to Radiate Gleams
A Classical Cameo-Sculpture, Perfect Profile Structure
Yea… in the Bright Beacons, I see Your Smile
In the Illumed, Clear Sky, ‘Your Face’
Can Love’s Face be Touched … Attainable?
The Face of Love … is Unforgettable.
The Face of Love … I Have Visualized,
Potent, Breathtaking, The Vision Rised;
From a Sunlit Lake, Winking as Would Diamonds.
Your Face of Love, Emerging from Far Beyond
The Depths of the Lake, as My Heart Quaked,
because of the Wavering Portrait’s Peace
because of Water-Color Caresses.
That Face of Love, was so Tangible.
The Face of Love … so Unforgettable
The Face of Love … has Gazed Upon
Dreams of Mine, the World’s Not Known
… Out of the Woodland’s Emerald Mist
With Drops of Dew, Love’s Face Kissed
The Framing Boughs; My Relaxed Brow.
Floating… Breathing out the Mist of Morn Light
That I may Sketch Your Face of Love, in Life.
The Face … More Handsome, than Sons of the Womb, is Possible…
The Face of Love … is Unforgettable
(For A Medieval-Tongued Poet, I Found Here at The Soup...
Ismael Nieves, this one's for you Kiddo
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
chill chill; cool cool;
variety of different colors and taste.
a variety of flavours
which keeps me cool.
ice cream with parents is happy.
ice cream with friends is jolly.
ice creamwith lovable one is lovely.
sharing ice cream shares love.
have a cup of ice,
have a chill and cool life.
Copyright © lavanya ramamurthi | Year Posted 2014
Her eyes showed me a way,
Her unique smile let my tears go away,
Her Beautiful face made me to say,
Is this Love, or what???
Started to have feeling of love,
Started to behave nicely and different,
Started to smile when there was no reason to smile,
Still, Is this Love, or what??
Tried to approach her, but felt belittled, lowly, shy,
Tried to ask her for date, but felt afraid, scared, shocked,
Tried to express my love, felt would be rejected, hurt, unheard,
Well still, Is this love, or what?
I can fix anything, why not this thing,
I can talk to any girl, why not this girl,
I can really convince anyone, why not this one,
Came before many girl, why not this girl.
Do please not tell me its just nothing,
Do tell me how to do something about this thing...Love,
Do tell me anything about this thing…Love,
Will there be rejection or appreciation??????????
Copyright © Balbir Singh | Year Posted 2013
One eye of burnished brown
The other of glowing yellow
Coat the color of loamy ground
An imposing, fearsome fellow
Peers about and leaves no doubt
Those orbs so fiercely feral
That to try to pet, one might regret
Best be done at one’s own peril
Muzzle abounding with teeth so white
Sharp claws clicking upon the stones
Jaws and claws and gaping maw
Designed each and all for crushing bones
God only knows what that cold wet nose
Can sense, scent and conjure up…
For now tho’ at least, he’s a tiny beast
Na’ more than a warm, wriggly,
Copyright © David Whalen O Haolin in ancient Celtic | Year Posted 2015
The sea gathered her voice
on the crest of the waves
as dark clouds were herded
by the wind as he raved
in a symphony orchestrated
through elements of sound
composed by the air
from his drafty compound.
By the drum of the surf
on the beat of the waves
a crescendo that climbed
with the sea as she raged
while the wind as the maestro
pulled pockets of sound
from the whistles and moans
as he swept ‘cross the ground.
Soprano! cried the killdeer
Tenor! screeched the gulls
as a baritone foghorn
boomed from the hull
of a ship that swayed
drunkenly atop of the surf
staying clear of the breakers
that crashed on the turf
The ship creaked a response
as it groaned a refrain
but the deft hand of a shipwright
would keep it sustained
for he’d hewn and he’d whittled
great emblems of love
carving an angel for the figurehead
and atop the masthead, a dove.
When the wind stopped his jostling
and the sea spent her ire
the ship slipped back to its haven
of warm hearths and bright fires
where the men mused and wondered
over great tankards of ale
if the hymns and hosannas..
had been but, the wind in the sails?
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2012
The scent of your breath captured my innocence
With those candle-shaped fingers so soft and tender,
The eyes that spark with modesty and sensibility,
I'm yet beginning to lose my own self in the spiral of a never-ending journey.
Your flawless skin is as white as the snow
A perfect soul trapped in s perfect body of a man
Your words are as pure as the quiet lake of dote
With the touch that produces rhythm to a lifeless dream.
Every blink of your eyes imply affectionate devotion
Your moves are embedded with care and temperance
Staring at me like I'm the only woman on earth
I tried to jump away but you caught me in your supple arms.
you embrace me with security and praises
Worships like I'm an idol to whom you entrust your future
I wish you'd feel the silent desires of my heart
We'll together be floating then in a serene shimmering ocean.
If sleeping is the only medium to spend togetherness,
I would rather wake myself up and start a neophyte search
I'd take all the means to steal you from my mind
Eternally dreaming about the man I've only met from nowhere.
Love me like you're a prince
Be real and forget your home and your origination.
Copyright © Cheryl Joy Amarga | Year Posted 2012
IN PRAISE OF BEAUTY
O beauty allure, beauty of the hyacinth
Doused by wailing drops of dew shroud
And pierced by the radiant shaft of heaven,
Through the rituals of purity
To tread the virginal soil of Venus.
O like the scenery
Of the splendid garden of Aphrodite,
With Pageantry, the art of Pothos and Himeros,
The pearly dross most sought after
Like a wand that spelled all the eyes of men.
Dazzling aurorae shimmering in deep shadows;
Figure beholding of the twinkling crown Andromeda.
Sunrise awakening the greenery;
Ascending furrowed amber terrain of
The gloaming by the countryside!
Habendum et tenedum!
Before the lily white altar an avowal
Of chastity and tranquility enshrined;
On feather quilted bed day and night
With love elixir soothing the body and the soul!
Soul melody in diatonic harmony of
Meshed contralto with resonating baritone.
Swell the homophonic rhythm of Azande
As the pitch from my lips wear and decline
And the tempo of my heart increase!
Scented lavender wafting through subtle air;
Aromatic morning of rose bathed with dew
That transports the mind beyond earthly realm
And capture the heart at whim
Lost in imagination of the form and frame.
Culinary variety spread in romantic atmosphere
In candlelight banquet of cream and crimson;
Sheer delicacy, man’s greatest savour
Whose delights subsist even in her absence;
Whose substance transcends life’s ideal!
Copyright © ITSOGHOLE O SOLOMON | Year Posted 2014
A timeless face set in smooth, hard skin gazes
Out across a sea of framed majesty created by human hands.
Dreams, which have been carefully formed to
Enter into the realm of reality and take
It’s viewer’s breath away. The statue
Looks at art and is art and addresses art,
Art, you are everything and can be made with
So many things previously thought of as nothing.
Possibilities stretch up and down the rabbit
Hole of imagination. Having tea in mid air doesn’t
Seem so rare anymore. Or sky in the middle of the ocean
And someone lounging on a couch on the ceiling, hair floating upward.
I can draw a picture of spring with you,
Blend warmth and a light breeze on the page
In black and white with my charcoal finger.
Or tear apart an image only to put it back together in
A new unimaginable way, or create a new world
An enchanted forest, a thousand hands as trees reaching toward the sun…
The possibilities are endless
Copyright © Jacque Graham | Year Posted 2014
Green bark a prism creates,
Feel the pull of earth, you must.
Rotates, a slime of endless hates,
Can hold me not, this world’s crust.
Friendship’s ties, isolation Deflates,
Succumbs, my spaceship, to bitter rust.
Mist, my soul forever permeates,
Lift-off, booms the rocket’s thrust.
My spirit when light returns, elates,
Swamps swell, swallowed hope’s swirling dust.
Trapped, I am, until student from fate
Arrives to learn; Cloud City or bust.
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
Life Of The Imagination
Imagination has never had a bath or shower
It does not know of soap
Plays with itself for hours
Hanging from a rope
Hopes for handouts
There are no places it can’t go
In dirty crevasses in dark shadows
It takes chances with glass and wire
Wine becomes expired in its mind
Meandering with tigers, gliding off of stars, where parsecs spark
Falls back into dark matter of inner space
Imagination visits here on Earth for merely seconds
Swings out to a nova blast without its nova cane
And again comes here to the home planet to drink square particles of rain
It named its first 10 children candy
None of them were sweet
The next 10 he called Mortimer
Bought them homes by buffer zones near Kansas
On Christmas it lays Easter eggs on pine needles
Pine trees are used as tooth picks in all seasons
At Thanksgiving it pitches forks
Imagination has no fear of anything accept divorce
It writes the laws in crayon while dancing through the canyons
There are fleeting moments that can never pass beyond its grasp
There are things in space and time that even chance can’t handle
Sometimes Imagination takes me places
I really don’t want to go, without my sandals on
He is my friend but wakes me up at midnight
Places pen and paper in my hand and makes me work
While he just sits there counting sheep and eating candy
Remembering they were his children
None of them were sweet
I wish sometimes imagination would fall right off the Earth
After all, he’s the one who calls it flat
For what that’s worth
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
I will bring the world to your feet
I will not be discreet
I will say it out loud
I will erase all the cloud
Make it a bright shiny day
In a month of May
Sweet gentle breeze
I will be at your arms
You will kiss my eyelids
We shall fall asleep
Dream of a perfect life
The love of our lives
Copyright © ashek rahaman | Year Posted 2013
Mysteries of Human Hairs
Hairs, O’ hairs, O’ lovely ravishing hairs,
Fascinating and beautiful, you often resemble,
When nicely looked after and softly taken care of.
Your beauty and elegance has often inspired,
Your softness and shines have captivated many
To put their hearts on fire,
Your aroma can evoke to extremes,
Passion and lust like streams.
The lustrous beauty of these hairs,
Have raised thousands of wars sacrificing millions,
To win only a Helen of Troy and
Even great warriors like Ceasar and Antony became a prey,
Before the killing magic of your arts and flying colors.
Even the ravishing beauties of these hairs,
Have charmed many eminent enemies and warriors
Besides the millions and millions of moving lovers since ages,
Who fall prey to the loveliness of these alluring hairs.
Your graceful presence, has produced men of letters,
Your locks have killed many, in the history of the world,
While many have altered their existence, completely,
To win, the beauty of your hanging hair locks and curls,
Even the dullness of your hairs too,
Have often inspired many wandering lovers and singers.
Hairs, O’ hairs, O’ lovely ravishing hairs,
When you hang, you look like dark clouds,
Playing on the forehead of a woman,
By watching such clouds many get lost,
In the colors of your showering rains.
Many Writers, poets and artists find their inspirations,
Under the love and softness of you O' hairs and
Many have produced things of beauty and joys forever,
While many have found the goal of their life,
In the beauty of your lustrous curls and colors,
What a strange it is, that still many
Would like and love to get sacrificed,
In the enchanting flames of hairs, like small flies forever.
It is also a hard truth of the world and
Of our human life and air that,
Even some saints too have fallen prey,
Before your enchanting beauty and your alluring colors.
Many mighty kings have lost their crown and kingdoms,
In the ever tempting beauty of your magnetic curls and shines,
To get hold of you, O’ lovely hairs.
Kingdoms have fallen like the house of cards and
Even most powerful men of this earth,
Have lost the edge of their swards,
Before the shining, flying and mesmerizing,
Beauty of a women’s hair and its penetrating charms.
What wealth and gems you hide in your treasure,
Making many men and even women,
Mad, before the lovely ravishing beauty of you, O’ Hairs.
Kanpur India 28th Oct 2010
Edited and rewritten on 28th March 2012
Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2010
On this cold and rainy morning I wake to the soft sound of your breathing..
Your chest slowly moving up and down as you are far off in a land of dreams.
I caress your cheek,
careful not to wake you from what seems to be such a peaceful
Your skin so warm and soft against my cold hand,
I close my eyes and I drift as your sent fills my nostrils..
Slowly moving toward those plump lips,
they have been neglected of kisses for too long..
Pressing my lips to yours a small moan escapes me.
I feel your hand carefully move from its place of origin,
on your stomach, to my hip. Urging me closer, the heat rising off your body is so
I can hold back no longer. I plunge my tongue into your mouth, past
teeth, feeling so deep inside as i flick my tongue back and forth.
Soft caresses turn to tight grips, nails claiming flesh, heart pounding.
Moving into position, I climb atop of you..
In my mind
In reality, gasps for air trying to be caught.
No chance of stopping what I've started. Blurs of light shining from across the room,
whispers and panting saying "i love you".
In the end.. both left searching for the
air we had lost, legs unable to move, mind shut down, ecstasy swirling around
Copyright © suzanne hoyt | Year Posted 2012
SHE moves with grace, like one in love
with love itself and all that’s lush;
and when the mythic sprites above
unloose her from the morning's blush,
she descends like the milk-white dove
with the notes of a singing thrush.
With golden locks, as light as air,
and liquid, limpid eyes most blue,
none is like her or can compare
to her beauty and lovely hue
which lift the humble souls that dare
come to her for her balmy dew.
As wind and air Nymph and a muse
with the nimbused crest of a saint
which no man can therefore refuse
or with mean words tarnish or taint,--
hence let all Creatures freely choose
to honor her without constraint.
1.) Ngoc Nguyen; 2.) Nature motif; 3.) for "Impress me II ! ( Old/New )" Contest
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2013
I am the one who once traveled by flight and foot
And now I slither around on my round-body
My tongue has always been and still is split in half
In my first stage of life my speeches consisted of fire-bursts, ice-shards, smoke rings, and whirling-wild-winds
Now my speeches are speedy rollings-of-the-tongues and a-spitting venom-filled saliva
Horned was I back in the days after I had hatched out of my egg
Now my mushroom-like head consists of my eyes, my nostrils, and my ears
Once I had massive teeth to help me emasculate my food
And now I must swallow all of my food whole
Many primitive cultures have used me as a symbol for both good and evil
I symbolize the Morning Star, and have been blessed with many different names
Nevertheless, I am worshiped by many cultures of mankind as a powerful being
I am the Light-Bringer, and the Knowledge-Bringer to mankind and am similar to Prometheus
I seduced Eve to bite the apple in order that she may have knowledge and become like Yahweh
I am also Quetzalcoatl, the revered sky god of the Aztecs
Without the symbolism that mankind has placed upon me I am nothing more than a plain reptile
Copyright © Eric Shelman | Year Posted 2013
There've been times in my life
where I've just had to say,
"I must, give it all up,
for, it's that kind of day"!
I must, really say this
I really, just must;
if I didn't say it,
then, it wouldn't be, "just".
There's this crazy, old man
we'll just call him, "Doc";
who fills up blank pages
with, "poetical talk".
He's scribbled, and scrabbled
'til way, past bed-time,
trying to finish each poem
and, complete every rhyme.
If he hadn't done this
he'd surely gone, "mad",
his nonsensical nature
was, all that he had!
No hidden agenda
when first, he wrote down,
each poem of nonsense
to erase a childs' frown.
And, Doc always did this
..so that , all of his poems
were merely geared, to amuse.
He loved to let nonsense
be the order of the day,
and, with every poem
we all smiled, the same way.
His only intention
was to set our minds, "free",
his style, just did it
With his own tongue, in cheek
we knew we'd been had,
and his poems rhymed perfectly
proving he was no, "fad"!
The volumes of topics
that Doc's written of,
included all that could be
written.....below, and above.
He's written of magic,
puzzles, and games...
..with, strange little creatures,
with, strange little, "names".
The, crazier his story,
the saner he'd feel,
and, the more that we heard
convinced us they were, "real"!
His poems, were genius
as he weaved us, a tale;
with, nonsensical rhymes
that did so, without..."fail".
"Old Doc", has quit writing
he's up in heaven,
this year, his birthday'd ...
make him, a hundred, and seven!
He's given advice,
taught what we must do,
he said, "Be who you are...
..no-one's youer, than....you!"
He's maybe still writing
in, heaven....you see,
that'd be just like him
as, that's who he must, be!
That, silly old doctor...
..as silly, as a goose;
we all loved his poems,
for, we loved Dr. Seuss!
Copyright © david goodwin | Year Posted 2012
Muslim who influenced by westernize,
Lost name and Identity, drowned in Occidentalize,
Got accuse of terror and blame of activist,
Oh the Muslim, thou lost thy illuminant,
Thou turn away face from lessons of Quran,
Ever thou remembered the moral of surah Aal-e-Imran,
Betrayed thy self through curse deed,
The Almighty bondman what’s thee need,
Lead thou self toward astray,
Turned attention to infidel way,
Forgotten the worry of last abode,
Repent thy sins by viewing this ode,
Eager thyself of virtue, thirst of hay,
Inertial thought turns thou rough and clay,
Vivify thy self, You the Muslim and still alive,
Strong enough as the pillar of five,
Worldly life is not more than amusement and joy,
Be prepare for hereafter, as you have to die.
M. Shahid H. Chouhdry
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © M. Shahid H. Chouhdry | Year Posted 2013
Gathering odd bits and scattered pieces
I lay on silken sheets of pristine white,
a soft, lavender scent, aired, releases ...
daily sorrows and fears of painful night.
Rising on an astral cord, I hover
all smiling at my earthly nascent self,
wandering, wondering, fractals a glow
we light beings uncover
a unifying geometry ourselves.
Do come, come and join our playful tableau.
Dark interiors pale, as outside I rise
peeking but briefly within where I lay
and I nod to self, then up to the sky
with spirit animals along to play.
The wolves howl with joy, the owls soar high
we stitch herringbone patterns gray on blue
as we loft like birds above forest tall
giving bedside good byes.
High above the earth, we have quite a view
as with rainbows of lights we're enthralled.
From space earth's sphere seems an implausible dream
continents and oceans blue, brown and white
as refreshed we gleam, streaming home on beams
fired solar flares of brilliant delight.
Down, down, we go to just outside the pane
and giggling, I peek through the window shade
myself wound in, on umbilical thin,
whole without a complaint.
Four guardians, I hug and thank for their aide
and slip beneath the silk sheets, all tucked in.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012
< oh ode old ode please come to me
illuminate frowned smiles
rejuvenate twinkle in eye
your task steady fast my old ode
your victory renowned thus crowned
soothing as childs teething bisquit
your demeanor captivating
Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2011
I need her !
© 2011 Justice Chikandamina
Copyright © Justice Chikandamina | Year Posted 2011
I do not know?
What fool can write about green onions?
Not me, Not me
I'm not a fool you see
Green onions are food
not a poem my friend whose goofy
But I don't mean to be rude
or crude to any dude
who writes about green onions
and not eat for food
So what if I'm rude or crude
to you, foolish dude
I'm not like you, I'm no fool
But a dude who's cool
So don't confuse me with a fool dude
'cause I'm a cool dude
I do not write about green onions
that is you, a fool you see
and a fool you will always be
I do not write about green onions
you see ,you see
Copyright © greg halligan | Year Posted 2005
How could you pass by so eccentrically!
Didn’t you see me for even an instant?
Wearing the same evening gown you walked,
Adjacent to the car I was stuck!
I couldn’t believe my eyes,
How could it really be?
You were so apathetic,
You seemed walking to your own,
As if, it were a walk to the Moon!
No stop over, no curve, no care for to and fro,
It seemed like a goal was set fixed for you!
Just splashed once, and then walked straight in the rain.
Dad, you passed away ten years ago
No, it can neither be you, nor your shadow!
Dad, was it really you, or my imagination?
I called you back, but you were never seen again.
Still on my way the same daily,
I look for you again and again keenly
I don’t see you, neither your moon-walk,
Are you okay with your own, wherever you are?
Dad, its poor me, your forlorn daughter,
Don’t be so firm, please response ever!
From wherever you are! Just send me a smiley face once,
It will console my compassion, I’ll stay contented forever.
Copyright © Tasmina Hayat Khan | Year Posted 2015
Legends about the beginnings of time
have kept people mesmerised for many millenia
The galaxies exsisted long before
humans came on the scene
They will continue to exsist after we are gone
Countless generations have chased
after the ultimate knowledge
Perhaps the answers we seek
like within our fragile forms
The inner world is a microcosm
of the vast cosmos
There is more depth in us
than is commonly realized!
Let comets pass by with their firey tales
we will not be without hope
even at the end of
For our short stay
will be crowned with
if we keep ourselves
ready for the
which dawn has offered us
since the beginning
before the globe we live on
first began to spin
around that ball of light
we name the sun
Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2011
Centripetal force of a
whirling waterbottle, captured in it
the tornado of our youth
and reflecting a goofy smile.
Dare you say centrifugal?
Dare you graze the edge of a sharpened sword?
Copyright © Jesse Jones | Year Posted 2007